I'm not super invested in the brewing class. I stand back and watch as the weird woman with thin hair and wrist braces mixes the bucket of roasted barley.

There are too many people here. The walls are lined with giant aluminum tanks. The concrete floor is sloped gently toward a narrow moat that runs the width of the building.

The smell of fermentation is intense. It coats the inside of my throat like fur.

"Oh good, my brother is here," one of the women says, glancing at her phone. "I'm just going to go outside and find him."

A man wearing a sloppy cargo vest sits on the ground, directly into a puddle of beer, water, and sanitatizing fluid.

I look the other way.

She returns, her brother in tow.

How old is he? Forty, maybe? He's wearing a plain tshirt and jeans, but I can tell he's athletic. He has a face like 80 grit sandpaper.

I can feel him watching me. Why is he watching me?

"Have we met?" he finally asks. "Were you at the lake?"

"She wasn't at the lake," his sister says.

"Oh."

His eyes are dark and quiet.

"Your sister mentioned you were just coming to pick up your mail," I say, a clumsy opening line. "Where are you from?"

"Ah," he says, a distinct Australian accent, "I live in Zurich."

~

"Well, I'm banned from being an accountant in Australia," he says, having the grace to look a little bit embarrassed.

"I...what? Why?!"

"It has to do with when I got arrested."

"You HAVE to elaborate. You can't just leave that there."

He slides me a sideways look.

"Well...I kind of learned how to count cards. I didn't know that was illegal."

"Yeah," his sister says with a laugh. "I'd be surprised if there were any casinos that he hasn't been banned from. He's DEFINITELY not allowed back into any Australian ones."

He shrugs. "And you're not allowed to practice accountancy when you've been charged with fraud."

~

He tells me about almost being abandoned in Quebec.

"It was freezing, and I was walking the streets at night," he says. "It was only by chance I saw them driving by and I threw myself in front of the car."

I raise an eyebrow. "Sounds like you need better friends."

He just smiles and shrugs.

~

"God, is there anything that isn't made out of carbs and cheese here?"

I look at the menu. It is literally only pizza and beer.

"You'd think we were in a pub that only served pizza and beer or something," I say with a side-long look.

"And pizza was literally made of carbs and cheese, or something," he says, his smile blooming.

~

A petite German woman shows up and joins our table. My friend makes introductions around the table.

The brother looks at her silently, then asks her where she's from.

She names a city and he smiles, and starts speaking rapidly in German.

She grins with all her teeth, replies in German, and then they both switch back to English.

~

"She's too young for you," his sister says, slapping his thigh under the table.

He leans back to see me around the person between us.

"What year were you born?"

"1984."

"God, you're a baby."

"What year were you born?"

"1976."

"FUCK you're old. You're pretty much dead!"

His eyes get wide for a second, then he laughs.

He is not the oldest man I've dated by a handful of years, but I don't elaborate on that point, and just flash a cheeky grin and go back to my beer.

~

Everyone is getting their coats on, wrapping scarves around their necks, finding their bags.

"I've really enjoyed talking to you," he says below the din. "I'm going to go out for a couple more drinks afterward. Do you want to come?"

I look at him with narrowed eyes. What the hell does he want? Is he angling for vagina? I don't know this man from a hole in the ground. Is he dangerous?

I rapidly weigh my options. Strange city, strange man.

"I'll think about it," I lie.

~

The tube feels electric after the thick evening dark. He only has one stop.

"Are you coming with me, or are you staying with them?"

"I'm staying," I apologize. "I'm feeling tough tonight, and I need to go to bed." Not a lie, at least. My period is heavy, and burns like hot lead in my belly and sand in my joints.

"Let's stay in touch," he says.

"Do you have social media, or anything?" I ask. The train is slowing. The time is ending.

"Yes, my sister--"

"I'll find you."

The doors open.

He leaves.

The sliding door slams closed, and we pull away from the station.

.

Rosie

Before&After